


I Dream...

by butterscotchnotebook



Series: The Interesting Qualities of Love and Relationships [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Haytham, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, First Time, Gentle Sex, Haytham and his eloquent writing, M/M, Minor D/s dynamics, POV First Person, Porn with Feelings, Scars, Very Minor, but only slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterscotchnotebook/pseuds/butterscotchnotebook
Summary: "...of someone who will be there for me."A short story about Shay and Haytham's relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be something about character introspection but as I wrote it wasn't going where I had wanted it to. This is the finished attempt.  
> I think, overall, it came out relatively nicely. Especially since I haven't played Rouge yet. It's also the first story I've managed to finish in a while.  
> This is all unbeta-ed, so if there are any errors, go ahead and point them out. Otherwise, enjoy!

     It has been quite complicated since I had taken on Shay as a student of sorts.. He's taken quite the liking to me (as Charles did) and is loyal to a fault. Ironic, considering the circumstances that lead him to the Order, and perhaps most importantly, myself.  
       I remember when I had first met him in person, to welcome him into our (at the time) small Rite. I will admit, he was quite attractive. I admit that I still chide myself today for having that be the first and foremost thought to cross my mind.  
      It was when we were in a noisy tavern in New York that things had gotten more serious between the two of us. We had both been quite inebriated (normally, I refrain from letting myself go so freely, but that day had been taxing and I had needed the release) and had somehow managed to tumble our way up the stairs and into a room I had let out for myself.  
     "What do you dream about, Haytham?" Shay had asked me, out of the blue, and I remember being slightly surprised by the sort of question he was asking. I hadn't expected this sort of philosophical question from someone as drunk as he was. But, I was just as bad as he had been that night.  
        I shifted my weight on the bed as I formulated a response.  
"I dream..." I cleared my throat. "I dream of someone who will be there for me." It came out slightly slurred (I turned a shade red at how bad my speech had gotten) but he seemed to get it regardless. He pondered that for quite a time, so long in fact, I had begun to think he might've fallen asleep on me. When he spoke, I jolted a little bit.  
     "I could be that person, sir, if you so wished." Shay scooted a bit closer to my side. He was hot, like a furnace, and I absolutely enjoyed the warmth that radiated from him. His cheeks were dusted a pinkish hue (most likely from the alcohol) and in that moment, he looked like a shy schoolchild talking to his crush.  
     I had considered his proposition for a minute, as decided to take him up on it. Perhaps it was my lowered inhibitions that had influenced my answer. (However, I find that I am unable to part with him now, and when I think about the very concept of splitting, my chest becomes tight.)  
     He held a hand to my cheek, brushed his rough, calloused thumb over my cheek. He kissed me then, and I remember it being the most wonderful thing in the world. It felt warm, and there was something there that, back then, I hadn't been able to pick out. But I digress.  
     He was so gentle, in each and every movement of his lips, hands, anything. I had gotten tired of it and had grabbed the lapels of his black coat and pulled him forcefully to me. He made a small noise, but took the hint. He was a bit rougher, hands traveling down, to shoulders, arms, and thighs. I found myself under him on the bed, and a panicked thought crossed the back of my mind; "What are you doing? Stop now before things get too far from your control!" I couldn't be bothered to pay any heed to those warnings. It all felt so... Right. Meant to be. As if it were fate.  
     I tried to touch him. Returning his favor. He grabbed hold of my wrists and pinned them above me, and I heard a low growl.  
"Stay your hands, Haytham," Shay said simply, and I knew that he was quite serious.  
"Yes," I had said, color rising to my cheeks. Shay made no move to return to his earlier actions.  
"Yes what, Haytham?"  
"Yes Sir," I replied, instantly almost. He seemed to approve of that and let go of my hands, trusting me enough not to move them without permission. I would not have dared to move them without his consent, for their would surely be punishment if I had.  
     I moaned when he pressed a kiss to the tent in my breeches (I can feel myself blushing as I write this) and my hands twitched, itching to touch him, to pull him closer, but I did no such thing.  
     He ordered me to sit up. I listened. He told me to strip my top half; I obeyed without hesitation. He began to work at his own garments as well, until we had both been more or less equally unclothed, the only things left on being our breeches. He explored with his hands the expanse of my torso, rough pads of his fingers brushing over my scars. He winced at the sheer amount of them. He pressed little, feather-light kisses to each of them, hummed a little each time. (It has occurred to me, now, that the reason I remember this so vividly is unknown. Perhaps because it was the first of this nature, with a man, at least in my lifetime.)  
     We found ourselves in our previous position somehow. We kissed again. He was slow, gentle. (I am by no means delicate, but I found myself liking it nonetheless.) It was as if he poured his heart and soul into it. I found, despite myself, that I gave my own heart to him.  
     His hands worked clumsily to undo the lacing of my breeches. He pulled away from me and began to concentrate on the task. It was done soon enough, and he pulled them off, along with my underclothes, and there I was, in full glory before him.  
     He was suddenly in no mood for pleasantries. He dug through his coat pockets for, what I assumed, was oil. He found what he was looking for easily enough and suddenly, there was an indescribably wonderful sensation. Shay was skilled, this much I knew, but not to this degree. (Yes, I did often hear rumors of Shay's "expertise.")  
     It burned painfully at first. I swore. He hushed me, told me it would pass, and it did. When Shay began to move, it was the most wonderful sensation to experience. I clawed at his shoulders, and he hissed, biting my neck in retaliation.  
     I found myself on the edge of ecstasy too soon for my tastes, but when I tipped over the edge, it felt as if I had traveled to another plane. My mind was blank, clouded by the white-hot pleasure wracking my whole body.  
      When I had come down from my high, Shay was still moving, quite erratically now. I let him use me to his will, little shocks and shivers passing through my body. I was over sensitive and it was uncomfortable, but I did not deny him the chance to have his moment. He stilled, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to leave bruises. (And they most certainly would, as I would discover in the bath the next morning while nursing an awful migraine.)  
     After that experience in the tavern, he had been closer to me than normal. I began to notice little habits of his; how he bit his nails when he was stressed, or how he would rub his temples when he was annoyed. (Usually this was around his first mate, Gist.) I also began to notice my endearment for him. At first, I was unsure of what to do about it.  
     We fell into this tryst after a short time. We of course had to keep it behind closed doors, but it is still a great relationship on the whole.  
     I must end this here. I am beginning to run low on ink. As an afterthought: I hope that I am able to spend as much time as I can with Shay, before the inevitable assassination of either one of us. I hope we are able to die peacefully, with the knowledge that we made whatever this partnership was as enjoyable as we could.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the habits I describe Shay having are headcanons I've cooked up. Shut up.


End file.
